


It's Only Hair

by reindeer_pizza



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1496485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeer_pizza/pseuds/reindeer_pizza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before returning to Middle-Earth, Glorfindel thinks about what brought him here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Only Hair

Glorfindel picked up a comb and started brushing out his hair, eying the scissors waiting innocently on the table.

He wondered if he was being mocked. The new body gifted to him upon his return to life was beautiful, if subtly different from the one he had before. All the nicks and scrapes he had collected from a lifetime of fighting had been erased, and his new skin was as blank and white as fresh snow. This new body was just as strong as the old, and had even retained the skills he had spent years perfecting, as he had been happily surprised to find out a few days ago when he sparred for the first time since his…awaking, for lack of a better term. His new body was perfect.

And yet, despite all this, Glorfindel still had a sneaking suspicion he was being mocked.

His awakening hadn’t only erased the scars of his old life, but had also healed his hair. Even before he had fallen, the heat of the balrog had singed his hair, and having the demon grab on to it had burned it to a crisp and torn half of it from his head. But now, the golden waves cascaded freely down past his waist. He was almost positive it was longer and brighter than it had been before.

He had defeated the balrog. He had won. And then, he had fallen. He had died. He had died because of a stupid, stupid mistake. He had died because of the very thing he had been named for. He had died because of his hair.  
His hair didn’t need anymore brushing, yet he continued. Now the motions were just for the feel of it, and to consider his future actions. It had often been that way, before. He would spend hours combing through his hair as he worked through some problem, making it glow in the sunlight. He could still hear Ecthelion teasing him about it.

Tears pricked at his eyes. No. Don’t do that. Don’t think about Ecthelion. Don’t think about his brilliant smile that you will never see again. Don’t think about him lying facedown in his own damn fountain. Don’t think about the screams of the dying or the stench of burning flesh. Don’t think about how your home was ravaged and you could do nothing about it. Don’t think. Don’t think. 

He put the comb down and stared at the scissors. If he was going to do this, it would have to be now. He would be leaving this place tomorrow morning, sailing east for Arda, and Imladris. The Valar hadn’t said what exactly he was supposed to do once he was over there, merely that his skills would be needed. But what could he do? Just one soldier. One broken soldier. Yes, he had slain a balrog, but Ecthelion had slain three, one of them their captain. Surely Ecthelion would be better suited for this duty? But no. The Valar, in their infinite wisdom, had selected Glorfindel for this unknown task. They gave him a new body, a new city, a new life. A chance to start over. A chance to make up for his mistakes. And he’d be damned if he made the same stupid mistake.

Glorfindel picked up the scissors. The blades were keen and glinted in the light. He carefully took a section of his hair and raised the scissors to cut it. With a deep breath, he closed the scissors with a snip and watched as his hair fell to the ground.

There was no going back now.

Slowly, carefully, as if he had all the time in the world, Glorfindel cut his golden locks off. After he finished, he set the scissors down and looked in the mirror. Hair that had once been down below his waist was now barely an inch long.

“I like it.” He lied through clenched teeth. “It looks better this way. I will be more fit to serve without this…distraction. I will not let pride be my downfall ever again.”

The teasing words of Ecthelion floated past in his memory. “After all, it’s only hair.”


End file.
